


Fast Car

by PastyPirate



Series: Immortality and Family [3]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Bottom Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Driving, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy Smut, Frottage, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe centric, M/M, Nicky thinks he's recieving gifts when he's so clearly acts of service, Pacific Northwest, Thanksgiving, Top Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Vacation Time, discussion of the five love languages, lots of fluff, sad songs only
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26980543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastyPirate/pseuds/PastyPirate
Summary: Nicky likes long drives in the dark, Joe likes scenic parks, they both like spending time together. A road trip is the only possible conclusion.Technically set between Old Boots and Driving Lessons but can be read alone.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Immortality and Family [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1918057
Comments: 51
Kudos: 339





	Fast Car

It was just a snippet of song; caught in between a door chime and words around him, but it had Joe smiling down at the cassettes. He looked up at the speakers and then over to his friend who hadn’t stopped talking since they’d gotten to the record store. But it was understandable - she was going through a lot. 

“Stace, did you hear that song?” Joe pointed up, “I didn’t catch who it was.” 

“Tracy Chapman,” She looked around and pulled a cassette off a stack, handing it to him, “an oldie but a goodie. I got that album when I was in undergrad.” 

He looked at the back of the cassette, it was barely four years old. He tried to remember where they’d been at the tailend of ‘88. It was either Germany or Vietnam, although Germany might’ve been ‘89. “Gotta love a classic” he said. 

“Absolutely,” she watched him tuck it into his elbow, along with a few other cassettes, “did you have problems like this with Nicky?” 

Joe looked up at her, and tried to think of the right thing to say. He certainly couldn’t say _your boyfriend sucks and my eternal soulmate does not._

“I mean, you guys have been together for awhile.” Stacy said, looking down at a stack of Pink Floyd Cassettes, color staining her cheeks. 

“No,” Joe shook his head, “I think Nicky could walk into a room full of naked men and he would only notice that he didn’t match the dress code.” He paused for a second, before lifting his head, “actually he’s never noticed that either.” 

“He’s not a terrible dresser,” she said, and he wanted to say, _yeah, this decade at least._ The baggy flannel looks like it’s curated for style, not to hide several knives and at least one gun. 

“No not at all, although I do prefer when he’s not wearing clothes,” the slightly raunchy joke is designed to make her grin, and take her mind off her eyes-wandering-boyfriend for a second. It didn’t quite work. 

“You guys can’t be perfect all the time,” She said teasing, as if Joe wouldn’t hear the slight tidbit of desperation behind it. 

“Of course not, we’re not perfect. We have problems.” Which was true, but he couldn’t exactly say _we occasionally have to watch each other be murdered and no matter how many times it happens it still messes us up. I hate to see the man I love be hurt, and he hates seeing me hurt_. He tried to figure out a mortality friendly way to explain, “Sometimes we get lost in our work.” 

“Lost in your work?” She asked. “Of being students?” 

“We’re both - we’re perfectionists. We can get wrapped up in whatever we’re doing. But we never forget that we’re on the same team.” 

“What team is that? Impossibly hot boyfriends?” Stacy said, and Joe grinned. 

“No, well yes. But... “ Joe squinted, trying to find the words, “It’s always been me and Nicky against the world. I’ve never had to question that he has my back, and he doesn't question that I have his.” 

She huffed a breath, looking away, “Sounds nice.” 

He wanted to point out that she could have that too. That it took him decades to find Nicky, and centuries to learn every nook and cranny of Nicky’s brain - he was still learning things about him. “We need to be better at turning off, focusing on each other sometimes. We’ll go a while without checking in. That’s our biggest problem.” 

He didn’t add that sometimes they couldn’t because they were deep in enemy territory, or escorting a family to freedom, or any number of thousands of things that came between them. 

“Are you all checked in now?” She asked. 

Joe thought about it for a second. They were certainly both busy, but they slept together every night, curled under thick blankets. They hadn’t spent as much time together during the day as they had full course loads and work obligations. And granted; Joe hadn’t really slept that much over the last few weeks, volunteering at the mental health clinic was ironically running him ragged. “I think so. We might be due for one.” 

“Are you guys doing anything for the holiday?” Stacy asked, finally sensing that Joe didn’t want to compare Nicky to anyone. “You’re not uh… you’re not going home right?” 

The pilgrims were invaders who ruined the land and Joe saw no reason to celebrate them. “No we’re sticking around. We’ll probably just hang out. You?”

“Hanging out sounds nice though,” she swallowed, an anxious move she did whenever she’d say something that meant a lot to her. “I was supposed to go to Steve’s family’s house.” 

“Yeah?” Joe said, mostly to the Prince cassette. 

“I think I’ll just go home instead.” 

“I think that would be good.” Joe said, adding the Prince cassette to the crook of his arm. “Come on, let’s go grab a cup of coffee and you can finish telling me the story.”

#

Joe opened the door, and slipped into the comfortable mix of Tounsi and Ligurian he’d been speaking for nearly nine hundred years as he shrugged off his winter coat.

“If Stacy doesn’t dump her boyfriend I’m going to kill him.” Joe nudged the door shut behind him, dropping the bag of cassettes onto the kitchen counter. Draping the coat on the coat rack. 

“No you’re not,” Nicky said without looking up from his textbook. “Stacy would always think of him as the one who got away and idealize him.” 

“Maybe you should’ve gone for a Psychology degree,” Joe said, putting his shoes by the door and crossing the studio apartment to Nicky, settling his hands on Nicky’s broad shoulders and leaning down to press a kiss right above Nicky’s temple. 

Nicky reached back, grabbing Joe’s elbow before Joe could step away, he tilted his head back in a clear request for a better one. Joe wasn’t going to deny him that, twisting around just so for a quick press with a hint of _I know you have a late midterm to go do but after that we can do more of this._

Reluctantly, Joe stepped away, settling in on the brightly colored couch between their desks, “She spent a solid ten minutes trying to figure out what we have that she and Steve don’t.” 

“I certainly spend less time fucking other people than Steve does.” Nicky said, turning the page in his text book to a page that had a full skeleton labeled in tiny letters. 

“Less time?” Joe asked pointedly. 

“A lot less time you could say,” Nicky said. And Joe burst into laughter. Nicky’s lip twisted, knowing that Joe was thinking about how little Nicky paid attention to … well anyone before Joe. 

“I was two seconds away from telling her she could do better, but if I said it outright she’d get defensive and stay with him longer.” 

“All we can do is continue to be a healthy example of a strong relationship.” Nicky said. 

“You definitely should’ve gotten the psychology degree this time around.” Joe grinned, “then you could listen to the professor explain why Homosexuals were considered deranged until the 1970s.” 

“Everyone acts like it’s new, as if half of the men and women they worship in textbooks weren’t just like us.” Nicky dropped his pencil on the page, and looked at his watch, “maybe I could’ve done Psychology. Then you could take this Human Structure midterm for me.” 

“Well all you have to do is sit there for two hours and regurgitate things you’ve known for centuries, then it’s you and me for five days.” Joe tilted his head towards the bed, “or you could skip out on your midterm…” 

“They keep changing the names of everything. And don’t tempt me.” Nicky said, keeping his eyes on Joe, “This is our first planned long weekend in … well… “

“New Orleans, 1926.” Joe said. 

“Actually, I was going to say Paris, 1952.” Nicky responded, and Joe nodded, smiling fondly. 

“It’s not a planned long weekend though.” Joe said, “we have no plans.” 

Nicky shrugged, flipping his text book closed. “We’ll find a way to entertain ourselves.” Nicky tucked his book in his bag, “Alright, don't set the house on fire while I’m gone.” 

Nicky gave him another kiss, and walked out the door. Leaving Joe alone in the small studio. They had money tucked away in banks and safe houses, but they lived frugally when they were staying in one place. Opulence was neither of their styles. Although Joe did tend to lean more towards the finer things in life. 

Joe grabbed his bag of cassettes, and dumped them out on the bed, sorting through them as he contemplated five whole days with a country focused on family time and out of his way. He could spend it in bed with Nicky, but it’d been awhile since they’d done something with just the two of them. Since they checked in, as it were. 

All he wanted was to listen to the cassettes and spend time with Nicky. Maybe drag all his painting materials out to some scenic park. Nicky would probably want to go on a long drive through the countryside. He loved driving for hours on end listening to soft music. 

Joe picked up the Tracy Chapman cassette, and froze. An idea coming to him all at once. He swept the cassettes back into the bag and got up. He had a lot of work to do and only two hours in which to do it in.

# 

The packing part was easy. They had a go bag ready with things they couldn’t leave behind (blades as old as them, Nicky’s expensive sniper, Joe’s favorite shotgun) along with essential clothes items for them both. All he had to do was slap together a second bag with soft comfortable clothes, a couple trashy romance novels for Nicky, a few art supplies for Joe.

Joe put the kitchen in order because Nicky wouldn’t leave if it wasn’t. He kept an ear on the radio and a blank cassette ready to go. His half of the joke didn’t take too long to make. Nicky’s was a little more complicated and he had to switch to a golden oldies channel for the second part. He managed to keep an ear on it as he swept and pulled their winter clothes out of the closet. Making sure they both had a brightly colored jacket (a fashion trend he hoped went away quickly) and a beanie to protect them from the cold snap the forecast warned against. 

By the time Nicky was walking down the street, Joe was tossing their bags and a cooler full of snacks into the trunk of their beat up old volvo. 

“Joe?” Nicky asked, looking at the bags and the trunk. Any other lover coming upon quite a scene might panic, thinking their other half was leaving. Not Nicky. 

“I was thinking that you might want to go for a drive,” Joe said, pulling the hatch down and slamming it shut. 

“We need two duffles for a drive?” Nicky already knew what Joe was hinting at, Joe could tell by the way Nicky’s lip curled. 

“We do if it’s five days of driving.” Joe made a point of looking at his watch, “it’s past lunch now. We can leave first thing tomorrow if-”

“No need,” Nicky said, pulling off his book bag, “let me shower and then we can hit the road.” 

“I laid out clothes for you, I’m going to go fill up the car. Meet back here in ten?” He called after Nicky’s back, Nicky’s response was to pull the door to the building shut behind him.

# 

While new things were tripping on each other in their rush to be introduced to the world; it was cars that got to Nicky. Not particularly the innards of them (they both knew how to repair an engine but mostly out of necessity then want) but the feeling of them.

 _It’s like riding a horse, but better_ Nicky once told him, back when cars were still hand cranked. 

Joe felt like it had more to do with Nicky’s need to be productive and zen all at once. Driving seemed to be almost like meditation to him. In the same way that when they once walked together for days on end, Nicky would sometimes go quiet and stare at the horizon as he walked. 

They didn’t talk about any ideas for destinations, they’d both seen this part of the country develop and change hands over the centuries. Joe trusted that Nicky would think of something, or ask for help if he needed it. 

Joe knew the moment that the driving stopped being aimless and started having a goal when Nicky turned on the signal and moved across three lanes of traffic to an off ramp. 

“Where are we going?” Joe asked, lifting his head from his notebook. He’d been trying to capture the feeling of turning trees shading asphalt, while they were pushing eighty miles per hour. 

“Hmm, why don’t you put on some music?” Nicky said. Joe was sure that Nicky thought he was hiding the quirk of his smile by letting it happen on the far side of his face, but Joe wasn’t tricked. “The radio is getting grainy this far from town.” 

“Alright,” Joe rustled in his bags, they’d been on the road for three hours, and darkness was beginning to settle over the highway. “I have a present for you.” 

“I don’t think this holiday is for gifts,” Nicky said, although neither of them would know it. All holidays morphed given enough time and isolation from its roots. 

“This is more of a general present,” He held up the cassette, tilting it where Nicky could read the label. 

Nicky tilted his head to read, and burst into laughter, “you asshole.” 

Joe looked at the label, _Sad Songs for Nicky_ written in clear script for this very moment, “What? No good? I have another.” 

He held up the second cassette _Happy Songs for Joe_ scribbled on it. 

“You like the sad songs too,” Nicky pointed out, taking _Sad Songs for Nicky_ out of his hand and opening the cassette case. “They’re poetry set to music. You love them.” 

“But not as much as you do when the sun is setting and the world is quiet,” Joe pointed out, “there might be some announcers on there, I was cleaning as I tried to get some songs recorded.” 

The disc jockeys aren’t as intrusive as Joe worried, and Nicky’s mouth didn’t frown even as they listened to song after song about heartbreak and loss. He’d managed to capture the Tracy Chapman song as well, which was good because he’d been planning to play it for Nicky anyways - knowing exactly what Nicky would say. 

“Oh this is beautiful,” Nicky said, “The feeling of it.” 

“Wait until the ending, it gets sadder.” Joe said, not wanting to disappoint. 

“You can hide behind me all you want in front of Andy and Booker, but you love this as much as I do.” Nicky said, as the song trailed off. “Do you think he stayed?”

“Who? Booker?” 

“No, the man with the fast car. Do you think he stayed?” Nicky pressed rewind and played the last few lines of the song. 

Joe listened, “Do you think it’s happy if he stayed? If they were miserable together and he didn’t support her?” 

“Maybe I’m just viewing it through my eyes, even if you were completely useless I’d want you around,” Nicky glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes, “actually I’d prefer it if you didn’t get into so much trouble. You can be my kept man.” 

Joe laughed, shifting in his seat to look at Nicky, “what? You go out and murder people and just come home so I can fuck you right?” 

“Let’s leave all the killing to Andy, and just stay in bed forever alright?” 

“You’d get bored within a week.” Joe said, smiling at Nicky’s offended look, “not of me. Obviously, but of not helping. Maybe bored is the wrong word. Restless. You’d be restless.” 

“I think you could keep me busy.” Nicky rapped his fingers against the wheel, as if he was contemplating it. The thought of staying in bed with Nicky forever was definitely a tempting one. 

Whitney Houston came on, singing her song of eternal love. “Now _this_ is a song.” 

“This is also about a break up,” Nicky said, patting Joe’s leg, “it’s okay, it's just the two of us.” 

Joe ignored him, instead singing along with Whitney as the words built into a confession of love.

“Sing all you want Joe, she’s talking about leaving her man,” Nicky said, tilting his head away from Joe’s finger stroking down his cheek. “You better not be thinking of leaving me.” 

“Never,” Joe said quickly, before continuing to sing, his hand traveling down Nicky’s side glancing over his elbow. Nicky twisted his arm, grabbing Joe’s hand and threading their fingers together, keeping his eyes on the road.

# 

Nicky pulled into a motel with a flickering vacancy sign just along I-90. If Joe squinted he could entertain the thought that they’d been there before. Twenty years earlier or even twenty years before that. But Joe was fairly certain the last time they’d been in this region everyone was still panning for gold and ruining ancient forests to build ships.

The night had brought the snap of cold that the weathermen threatened. Nicky pulled up to the office door, and waited patiently as Joe pulled on his bright blue coat. It didn’t help protect Joe from the bite of cold, but it woke him up. Which was fine with him, afterall he had _plans_ for the rest of the night. 

A kind looking old woman looked up from a TV dinner as Joe stepped through the door. She smiled right up to her eyes as she saw him. 

“Evening sweetheart! Traveling home to see family?” She asked, shifting towards her wall of keys. 

“Just a trip with my partner,” he said, and her hand drifted towards one set of keys. 

“Business trips over the holiday? That’s unfortunate. I have a two queen room open.” 

“You wouldn’t happen to have a single king size would you?” Joe asked, pulling out his wallet and tapping it against the counter, “it’s not a business trip.” 

“Oh!” The woman said, grabbing another set and placing it on the counter next to his hands, “I can barely keep up with the lingo these days. I’ll just need your name and the make of your car.” 

“Joe Jones, and it’s a grey volvo.” He opened his wallet first to check that he’d grabbed the right ID. He missed the days when everyone just trusted you were who you said you were. A Washington driver’s license that marked his birthday as April 1st 1959, because Booker was a _dick_ sat next to cash and emergency loaded credit cards.“Do you need my ID?” 

“No, I’ll trust you Joe,” the woman said with a warm wink, “Now you don’t have any pets-” the door dinged behind him, and the woman shifted her smile to the door “-why hello there, I’ll be with you in one second darling.” 

Joe’s shoulder dipped under the weight of a duffle bag, he turned to give Nicky a thankful smile as he hitched the bag higher. He didn’t miss how the woman’s face froze, as if she was in the path of an oncoming car and her fight or flight reflex misfired.

“No need, he’s with me,” Joe tilted his head and hoped to _God_ that Nicky had the right ID to back him up, if the woman changed her mind about trusting him, “Nicky Jones.” 

“Oh.” The woman said softly, still processing, she gave them an overly earnest smile, trying to cover her slight snafu. Joe shared a look with Nicky, he always loved the people who were trying their best not to be terrible people, who just didn’t have the tools to do it properly. “Aren’t you two sweet? Going on a couples trip over Thanksgiving.” 

“We’re from Malta,” Nicky said, the lie rolling off his tongue. It was easier than trying to say the entire story they’d drunkenly scripted before they went back to graduate school in a small town in the middle of nowhere. “We didn’t want to burden our friends with hosting us.” 

“Malta! I don’t know why you’d ever leave,” The lady said, pulling out a form and setting it in front of Joe to fill out. It was the usual info all Motels asked. Name, date of birth, please sign here so we can come after you if you toss our furniture into the pool.

“I ask myself that all the time,” Joe said, scribbling in whatever info made the most sense, making sure his signature was as illegible as possible. 

“We thought it’d build character to spend some time in a different climate.” Nicky said, his eyes flickering down to the woman’s TV dinner, “is there anywhere around here we could eat?” 

“There’s a 24 hour diner just up the street. They have the best chicken pot pie this side of the Mississippi, and good apple too. The crust is all homemade.” She looked down at the sheet, and then gestured towards Nicky, “you’ll have to sign too.” 

“Right,” Nicky said, as Joe handed over enough cash for one night. He wasn’t sure what Nicky was planning but he doubted that a small motel on route I-90 would be the end goal. 

“Make sure to say Joan sent you, you get a five percent discount off the coffee.” Joan said, smiling proudly. “Now you two have a fun night alright? Don’t be afraid to call down if you need anything else.” 

Joe waited until the door clicked shut behind them, to twist his hand in Nicky’s, “I bet she’s calling a friend right now to tell her all about the cutest couple she just checked in.” 

“It’s better than her chasing us out.” Nicky said, glancing over his shoulder to the office window. They both could see Joan had a phone tucked under her ear, “Let’s give her something to talk about.” 

Joe was fairly certain that Nicky was just looking for an excuse to kiss him. Not that he minded.

#

The chicken pot pie, as advertised, was delicious. He stole bites of Nicky’s tiramisu as he let Nicky have some of his brownie ala mode. The glow of the diner lights guided them to the edge of the road, the gravel crunched under their feet as they walked back to the room.

“I’ll say this about cars, I don’t miss you bitching about your boots all the time,” Joe said, tugging Nicky closer in the vain hopes that he could get a secondary source of heat. 

“I don’t miss you bitching about riding horses all the time either,” Nicky twisted his head, even in the dark Joe could see his small smile, “but I do miss watching you ride all day.” 

Which is how they end up tumbling onto the king sized bed, flinging their gloves and beanies with abandon, Nicky pulling Joe down on top of him as soon as Joe managed to wrestle out of his coat as if it was Joe’s fault there was space between them. 

“Wait hold on,” Joe said, kneeling up and leaning over the king sized bed to where they’d tossed their bags earlier. Nicky didn’t bother to wait but he certainly held on, his hands slipping under Joe’s shirt to put deliciously warm hands on Joe’s hips. Joe’s hands couldn’t reach the bags, he did the only thing that made sense to him, he grabbed Nicky’s ass and lifted him close to Joe’s torso, and rolled them both over. 

Nicky took his new position seriously, directing his attention to Joe’s neck, shifting his weight just so that nerves shot through Joe’s body. Joe grabbed Nicky’s hip with one hand, and scrambled for the pockets with another, feeling all the usual spots first. When he didn’t feel the telltale shape, he shifted to the less usual spots, the hidden pockets where they usually put small weapons. Then he opened the main pocket, almost twisting out of Nicky’s reach. 

After a moment, Nicky propped himself up on his hands, and looked down at Joe. 

“Give me a second love,” Joe said, sitting up more to shove through folded flannel and jeans. He didn’t need to look at Nicky to know the small smug smile the love of his life had on his face. 

“Did you forget to pack the lube Joe?” Nicky asked, sounding entirely too entertained. 

“It’s in the go bag, it has to be,” Joe said, sitting up to look in the other bag. The pockets held spare ammo, matches, a tiny sliver of C4 for emergencies. “Shit.” 

Nicky shifted, taking the delicious weight away from Joe as he got off Joe’s lap, and laid down on the bed. Joe shot him an apologetic smile as Nicky folded his hands behind his head. 

“It’s here I swear,” Joe pulled out Nicky’s favorite grey t-shirt, tossing it onto the arm chair, and throwing his sweatpants on top of them. Nine hundred years meant that Nicky didn’t need to say anything. The jokes had been repeated so many times that now they were just the slow shake of Nicky’s head as he tried not to laugh. The situation apparently wasn’t enough of a deterrent, as Nicky threw his pants over Joe’s head to land on the chair. 

“Maybe we can call down to Joan, she seems extremely helpful,” Nicky said, shifting behind Joe to press a kiss to the nape of Joe’s neck. 

“I thought we had a strict _no taking the lube out of the go bag_ rule,” Joe said, and instantly regretted it because he could feel Nicky’s smile against his neck. 

“And who took it out of the go bag the last time?” Nicky was all but laughing now, dropping back onto the bed, stretching out his arms. In nothing but boxers and a white tank, Joe could almost forget his own embarrassment. Nicky was still hard, his cock fighting the elastic of his shorts. Better than braies, but not better than nudity. 

“Give me ten minutes to drive to the store,” Joe said, Nicky stretched again, his closed fists brushing against the wall, “five minutes.” 

“You’re mad if you think I can go another five minutes without your touch.” Nicky said, smiling. 

Joe stood up, sweeping the duffle bags off the bed and shedding his own clothes, “we went hundreds of years without lube-” 

“Yes, but there’s no tallow candles here, or oil,” Nicky pointed out. Joe twisted and looked towards the bathroom, “absolutely not, you’re not fucking me with shampoo.” 

With one arm still up, Nicky patted the bed next to him, Joe sighed and kneeled on the bed. “I don’t like using spit.” 

“We can get our little death in another way,” Nicky said, tilting his head back in a clear invitation. 

Joe wanted to point out that they were on _vacation._ It’s not exactly a vacation if you can’t fuck your husband until he saw stars. But another, more reasonable, part of his mind reminded him that all the hundreds of ways they’ve found to come together were fantastic. Even if he had his heart set on lovingly pounding Nicky into the mattress. 

As they kissed the bed rocked to life under them, groaning with their weight before shuddering constantly, Joe looked up to where Nicky’s hand was turning the dial on the magic fingers. He looked down at Nicky, “really?” 

“Come on,” Nicky said, pulling Joe’s cock out of his shorts. “We haven’t done this since the seventies.” 

Joe wanted to point out that it was because they spent most of the eighties in apartments and nicer hotels, but he lost his train of thought when Nicky shifted him so their cocks rubbed just so against each other. A fond go to when neither of them could quite tolerate anything else. Nicky kept his grip loose, focusing on sucking on Joe’s lip in between searching kisses. He let Joe set the pace, and he figured that just because he forgot to pack the lube didn’t mean he couldn’t have the slow tenderness he wanted. 

Neither of them fully get their boxers off, shifting to their sides so their knees could tangle together, and they could kiss one another like they hadn’t fucked in years rather than just a few days. It took them a little further from the motor, Joe could barely feel it except the vibrations that were moving through Nicky. 

Joe couldn’t really remember the people he’d slept with before Nicky, not anymore, but he knew it’d never been like this with them, the easy familiarity that somehow was still incredibly sexy, and toe curling good. 

It’s not long before they’re gasping against each other, and spilling over their hands. Nicky, with his impossibly perfect aim, tilted them ever so slightly that his stomach would get most of it, splattering across his old tank. Letting Joe drop onto his shoulder to gasp into his clavicle. 

“See? Still good,” Nicky muttered, bringing up his free hand to stroke down Joe’s back. The bed still vibrating beneath them. 

Joe grabbed the edge of Nicky’s shirt, and helped him pull it off, “It’s always good with you.”

#

The next morning they wore old shades that they’d probably bought around the same time they last used magic fingers. Oddly pale and slightly rounded squares that did a halfass job of blotting out the sun. Both of them had slept like rocks, curled up under crisp sheets and the fuzzy blanket that had been hiding under the hideous bedspread. If it wasn’t for Nicky’s inability to sleep in they would’ve missed check out time. Joe’s body seemed to catch on to the fact that they were on vacation, demanding that Joe go straight back to bed. Joe fought yawns all the way to the car.

They go to the diner to get five percent off coffee and a decent plate of eggs and toast. Joe followed Nicky’s lead in the corner store, unsure of how many snacks he’d need and for how long. He let Nicky pick the lube, and noted the pursed lips of the cashier as she rang them up. Not everyone could be as cool as Joan. 

The snacks aren’t nearly as helpful as he hoped, nor does Nicky give anything away when Joe asked where they were going. 

“Fine,” Joe said, settling into his seat after pulling off his jacket and tossing it into the back, “I’ll just stare at you and contemplate the possibilities.” 

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to stare at the beautiful scenery?” Nicky said, gesturing towards the changing leaves and rolling hills. 

“I’ve seen them before.” Joe pointed out. 

“You’ve seen me before, you’ve memorized every freckle on my body,” Nicky pointed out. 

“I’ll never get enough of you,” Joe said, and Nicky just rolled his eyes. 

By the time they get to the end of _Happy Songs for Joe_ (which is almost entirely the techno club music that seemed to be all the rage) they’re close enough to the city to get other radio stations. Time weeded out all duds, so the oldies stations played songs they loved or ones they missed and enjoyed anyways. 

“I just don’t get why music is so terrible right now,” Joe said as they crossed into Seattle, “where has all the heart gone?” 

“Give it a couple years and it’ll bounce back,” Nicky said, “or the music somewhere else is better and we’re just in the wrong place.” 

“Where is Andy? Spain? Australia?” Joe tried to think of how much a long distance call might cost, “maybe we should send her a telegram and ask.” 

“I think telegrams might be done,” Nicky gestured out the window towards the city skyline, “it’s completely different.” 

“Let’s see if we can find something that looks familiar.”

# 

All they need to do is walk down Pioneer’s Square and they’d had their fill of the past. They found a small Chinese restaurant overlooking the bay in Pike’s place to eat, as they started talking about the last letter Booker had sent them, rife with baiting messages to get them to leave school early. By the end of the meal they decide that Booker will probably end up joining them out of pure boredom after Christmas.

“Are we finding a hotel then?” Joe asked, looking around the square at the old buildings. He doubted the hotel they stayed at last time would still be one. 

“Oh this isn’t it,” Nicky said, opening the driver’s side door and giving Joe one of his small smiles, “I just needed to kill time.” 

“Why?” Joe asked. 

Nicky slid into his seat, and shut the door.

#

“You could’ve just said it’s because you wanted to catch the ferry,” Joe pointed out, as they waited on the far side of the bay to disembark.

“I’m having fun watching you guess, you’re not even trying that hard.” Nicky said, waiting for the signal to kick the volvo in gear. 

They move as two halves of one whole in battle and in life. If Joe wanted to figure out where Nicky was taking him, he could just try slightly harder, but fun surprises were rare in their lives. 

“You know there’s this book we have to read for our new theories class,” Joe said, hand automatically going to the armrest as the car trundled over the divide between the ferry and land. 

Nicky hummed, following the traffic guidelines, and heading towards the park. The view was still stunning, even with the roads bisecting the mountains. 

“It’s about the five love languages.” Joe arched a brow at Nicky, who shook his head. 

“Every language can be for love as far as you’re concerned,” Nicky said. And Joe nodded, because Nicky wasn’t entirely wrong there. 

“Well this is about other things, acts of service, quality time, words of affirmation that sort of thing,” Joe crossed his arms and leaned back against the seat. 

“Acts of service?” Nicky asked, his mouth twisting downwards slightly, “like hand jobs?”

“No,” Joe shook his head, “I think that falls under physical touch. Acts of service is what we’ve been doing all weekend. Me suggesting the trip and you driving me to some destination because you know I like surprises.” 

“Ah,” Nicky glanced at Joe, before looking back at the road. The asphalt curved and sank between rolling hills. While they would survive it, neither of them quite fancied dying in a car crash again. “What’s your point?” 

“I just remembered learning about them, and we went through the guide to better understand our significant others. I realized that we’ve spent the last nine hundred years perfecting our various demonstrations of love that I no longer know who did what first. Or what our primary love languages are.” 

“What's the fifth one?” Nicky asked. 

Joe thought of which ones he listed, and added “Receiving gifts.” 

Joe can almost see the gears shifting in Nicky’s head, trying to form the words. There’s some that came easy now, _I love you_ , _you’re the love of my life_ , _I’m happy I can spend eternity with you because that’s how long it’ll take for me to show you my love_ , and others that Nicky had to chew on first. 

“Every moment with you is a gift,” Nicky nodded, “mine must be receiving gifts then.” 

“You romantic,” Joe said, leaning across the gear shift to kiss Nicky’s cheek, landing close to his mole, letting him focus on the road, “but I remember trying to buy you boots when we first started our life together and it took two days. Nice try.” 

“You bought me boots instead of a new tunic for yourself,” Nicky shook his head, “it was really about self preservation, since I had my hands on you at that point I could barely keep it together during the day.” 

They bicker amiably until they get to Port Angeles, resolving to take the quiz tucked into Joe’s textbook when they get back to their studio. 

Joe knows that Nicky is killing time, building up the surprise, by the way he leads Joe around Port Angeles, intentionally taking him in the direction of a book shop. It works. They both have a bag full of books to put in the trunk of the car. Joe’s bag is filled with Queer Theory, poetry, and the books that were labeled _Great American Novels_ \- whatever that meant - and Nicky’s is filled with pulp sci fi novels and bodice rippers with impossibly well muscled men on the cover. 

Nicky kept tipping bits of his pasta onto Joe’s plate, so by the time Joe gets to the car he’s blinking wearily. He’d been beating back exhaustion all day. 

The next thing Joe knows Nicky is tugging him out of the passenger side door, putting his shoulders under Joe’s arm and walking him towards the door of a cabin. 

“I’m awake Nicky,” Joe muttered into Nicky’s hair.

“Sure you are love,” Nicky said, laying Joe back on the bed and pulling off Joe's shoes, “just hold on let me go grab the bags.” 

Joe managed to pull off his shirt and his pants, before laying back on the bed with his hands folded behind his back, ready to rock Nicky’s world.

# 

He woke up curled around Nicky, his arm draped over Nicky’s waist and his knees tucked in tight behind him. He groaned and buried his nose in the nape of Nicky’s neck.

“Morning sunshine,” Nicky said, patting the hand draped in front of him, “did you sleep well?” 

“I always sleep well when you’re in my arms, did you?” Joe said, tightening his arm and pulling Nicky to him. He’s half hard but that’s how he wakes most mornings, a set of thoughts could push him either to full or empty depending on the mood. Nicky shifted, leaning forward and letting a sweep of cold air hit Joe’s chest. He groaned, but Nicky leaned back quickly, tucking a bottle of lube into Joe’s hand.

“Slept like a rock,” Nicky said, and Joe uncapped the lube because he was a good husband who took hints. 

“Not the only thing about you that’s like a rock,” Joe assumed, his free hand focusing on pulling up the shirt that Nicky fell asleep in. 

“You were adamant about fucking me right last night but fell asleep before you got the chance. I just want to be helpful.” 

The air is cold but their bodies are sleep warm, verging on uncomfortably hot. Joe swept a hand over Nicky’s chest and stomach, before helping Nicky get out of the last of his clothes. Taking off his own clothes proved difficult as he was reluctant to move too far away from Nicky. He wished he had the presence of mind to take off his clothes the night before. They so rarely had the freedom and the security to sleep naked. 

It’s not rushed, per se, but Nicky tugged on Joe’s arm when Joe tried to add a third finger, the universal sign for _hurry it up._ It’d been awhile since they’d been able to do this either, both of them caught up in making sure they could help as many people as possible, and pass their classes. Any sex they had lately was a tiny bit rushed, and not in an eager way. More like the absent minded pursuit of release rather than the tumbling fall into pleasure. Joe could tell that Nicky was more eager for the slow climb that vacation allowed them. 

Joe wasn’t about to start disappointing Nicky _now._

Nicky reached his arm back, cupping Joe’s neck as Joe pushed into him. Nicky sighed as if he was whole again and Joe couldn’t stop the buoyant laugh from pushing out of his chest. 

“I missed this too,” Joe muttered into the corner of Nicky’s jaw, his own beard keeping Nicky’s early morning fuzz from irritating his skin. 

Nicky’s only response was a hum, and canting his hips back so Joe could sink in deeper. Joe kept an arm wrapped around Nicky’s chest, nails dragging against Nicky’s pecs, traveling along the dips and rises formed by years of sword work. One of Nicky’s hands caught his, threading their fingers together, as the other went to his cock. Joe wished he could use his trapped arm to help, but that would’ve meant moving, or changing position. Neither of them wanted that. 

It’s a slow and indulgent build, cresting almost suddenly, as Nicky finally twisted in Joe’s arms to capture his lips in a sloppy but well meaning kiss. 

Before Joe could shift, Nicky’s hand went to his hip, grabbing it and holding him inside. “Not yet,” he muttered, laying his head back down on the pillow. 

Joe smiled, and just pulled him closer, more than happy to stay in bed.

#

They go twice more before Nicky lets him get up, and only then it’s to seduce Joe in the shower. The fact that they’re leaving bed at all means that Nicky has intentions somewhere beyond the room.

They snack on granola bars and pull on their jeans. Nicky bundled himself into a flannel and a sweater, while Joe found himself hoping that the 90s would never end. He much prefers this look to the buttoned down look of the 50s, or the ruffled collars of the 1550s. Nicky has adamantly kept the close haircut for as long as he could, hating when social norms dictated growing it out. 

Nicky shaved off his shadow, and then helped Joe clean up the lines on his own beard, Joe looking up at the ceiling as he let a man who once slit his throat carefully run a razor along the edge of his beard. 

The tenderness of it all had Joe trying to lead Nicky back to the bed. Maybe for a cuddle or something a little more. 

“Joe, I promise you, you’ll love what I have planned,” Nicky said, his eyes lit up in mirth as he held his ground against Joe’s tugging. 

“Nicky, I promise you, you won’t regret it.” Joe said, smiling as his heart was about to burst from the simple joy of having an uninterrupted day with the man of his dreams. 

“Come on, trust me.” Nicky said, picking up a stuffed book bag sitting near the door, he picked up travel mugs that they’d bought on the ferry, and handed one over to Joe, “I went and got supplies last night.” 

“Alright fine,” Joe said, seeing the familiar pack of his painting kit next to the bookbag. He assumed whatever they were about to do was initially at least for Joe, with Nicky creating his own diversions. 

The scent of saltwater and freshly cut grass greets him as he stepped outside of what he thought was a hotel room, and now could see was a tiny cabin tucked into a row of cabins. He looked around at the sights as Nicky locked the door to the room behind him tucking the do not disturb sign over the knob. It’d be unfortunate if someone stumbled across the small bit of C4 they had and got the wrong idea. 

He recognizes the park to one side, although the last time they’d been there it’d just been wilderness. Then in front of him is the expanse of the pacific, long rolling waves crashing onto a stony beach. It’s beautiful and breathtaking, the sharpness of the colors muted by a light fog, the low clouds. A perfect autumn day. 

“Come on,” Nicky said, taking Joe’s hand in his own. Joe let Nicky lead him, taking in the beautiful view. Even the tiny town with its sea battered blinds and bundled people is gorgeous in it’s human way. His fingers are itching for his sketchbook and a few uninterrupted hours. 

Nicky took him to a spot on the beach, where a few dry rocks rose above pebbles and fading away sandcastles made of mostly mud. 

“I can’t believe you remembered your art kit but not the lube,” Nicky said as he pulled out Joe’s traveling art kit and collapsible easel. There’s a few canvases in the bag that Joe checked for scratches before setting up his easel. Nicky pulled a fuzzy blanket out of the bag, and dropped it onto the rock, before adding a pile of books next to it. The last thing he pulled out was a couple of water bottles, handing one over to Joe who set it carefully on his easel. 

“There actually might be lube in the art kit now that I think about it,” Joe said, not letting the dig get to him. It’s just another patch on a quilt called _Nicky does the packing for a reason._

Joe’s lack of preparedness extends to his paints, he winced as he found that a few of them had dried up, but he had enough with life that he could make the colors he lost on his palette. Nicky sat on the blanket with his coffee, and pulled a 50s detective novel with a blonde and a brunette casting each other forlorn looks on the cover. 

He shoved the sleeves of his jacket up, trying to save them from getting even more color, as he looked around the bay to find the best spot to paint. The wind pricked at his arms, raising goosebumps. Gloves would only hinder him, but he tugged his beanie down tight over his ears, happy that it wasn’t so cold that they were risking frostbite by standing outside. 

Nicky opened the book, and leaned forward, propping a fist on his forehead with his elbow on his knee. The sunlight diffused through the fog to cast his face in a pale glow. He sat as a perfect divider between the rolling bay, and the climbing mountains. 

“Nicolò,” Joe called, across the short expanse between them, Nicky looked up, lifting his head just slightly off his fist, “can you read in that position for an hour or so?” 

Nicky smiled, “all the beauty in the world and you still want to paint me?” 

“Just another step on my journey to capture the perfect moment.” Joe said, loving how the twinkle that came into Nicky’s eyes was for him and only him, and no matter how many times he tried to paint it, it’d never compare to the real thing. 

“For you then,” Nicky said, taking a sip of his coffee and settling back into position. “Anything for you.”

# Epilogue # 

Stacy settled into the seat at their kitchen counter, she was smiling, overly eager. Joe was positive she was hoping he couldn’t see the red in her eyes from too many shed tears. She’d staunchly avoided the topic of her now ex, looking around their small studio apartment. “I didn’t know you paint,” she said, gesturing towards the easel in the corner, with the plastic sheet around the base of it.

“When the mood strikes,” Joe said, setting a glass of rosè next to her elbow, before sitting down next to her. 

“I guess the mood hit over Thanksgiving then,” she tilted her head, “did you paint Nicky?” 

“Usually when the mood strikes it’s because Nicky is involved.” 

“Being around you two …” Stacy trailed off, before looking at Joe, “it made me realize that I shouldn’t settle for less.” 

Healthy examples indeed. Joe should’ve done medical school, and let Nicky become the therapist he clearly should’ve been. “All I ever hope is that you find the Nicky to your Joe. Now tell me about your trip home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fast Car by Tracy Chapman is the energy brought to this, but without the deadbeat husband part. Happy Songs for Joe is essentially the 1992 version of the Pulse CD in case you were wondering how old I am and what poor decisions I've made in my life. 
> 
> Inspired by Polar_knight's edit here: https://alaskandawn.tumblr.com/post/630977842500550656/roadtripau-joe-x-nicky
> 
> (and by the fact that it's very easy to talk me into writing more fanfiction)


End file.
